


Back in Black

by Onceyourempire



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, last chapter also contains suicidal ideations, last chapter is Mature for nsfw content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-02 04:45:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8651590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onceyourempire/pseuds/Onceyourempire
Summary: The bell tolls. Jesse is 17 and he can't see because there's blood in his eyes. The bell tolls. Gabe finds a note on an immaculate bed. The bell tolls. He reloads. The bell tolls. "Kill me, please." The bell tolls. The bell tolls. It's quiet, suddenly.
{Mcreyes Week 2016 Fic Collection}





	1. Hells Bells

**Author's Note:**

> Day One: Domestic

+++

Gabriel Reyes listens to old shit. Like, way old. He makes fun of Jesse for his love of westerns but Gabe straight up listens to music from the 20th century. His boot is thumping in time to the guitar when Jesse walks into the mess kitchen. He’s hunched over the counter, looking at something while the coffee pot burbles next to him. There’s an honest to God CD player plugged in on the counter. Where does he dig this stuff up? Jesse wrinkles his nose at the machine suspiciously and walks in closer.

It’s a data pad he’s squinting at, and Jesse considers making a comment about old age and glasses before putting his hand on Gabe's lower back instead.

“Any news?”

Gabe sighs through his nose and moves his weight from his hands to his elbows so he can rub his eyes. “No. They still haven’t found his body.”

Jesse hums and rubs circles comfortingly on his back. “What can I do?”

“Nothing. _I_   can’t do anything, so you sure as hell can’t. I’m --” Gabe slaps a hand on the counter. “We wait.”

The music fills the empty space between conversations, crackling and buzzing through the speakers. Jesse waits. Gabe doesn’t push his hand away or walk out of the room, so Jesse leaves his hand where it is. The last song ends and the crackle dies abruptly. Gabe finally pushes the data pad towards Jesse and straights up. He actually leans closer instead of pulling away like Jesse expected, reaching across their bodies to hit play. He taps another button twice until the tiny green screen reads ‘repeat all’. Jesse picks up the pad.

Bells begin to ring in booming tones from the speakers. It’s such a change from the rest of the CD that it’s jarring until the music morphs back into loud. It sounds like it was dragged out from behind sharp teeth and Jesse can barely tune it out long enough to read the latest report from the team in the field. He’s so caught up in the report and the sound that he barely notices Gabe moving away from him. He startles when a mug clinks into his field of view.

It's coffee, with almost the right amount of milk. He blinks over to Gabe, who’s already drinking from his own mug that reads “America’s Next Top Dad.” Rodriguez had been so convinced that Gabe would never use the plethora of gag mugs the team had gotten Gabe three years ago. Jesse knew better.

“That close to how you take it?” Gabe asks, cocking his head at the mug he’d slid towards Jesse.

“As good as it’s gonna get.” Jesse replies, carefully wrapping a hand around the hot mug.

Gabe looks at him, then looks over their shoulders. Content that no one’s coming, he puts a hand on Jesse’s jaw, curling the fingers in while he rubs the thumb over Jesse’s cheek. Jesse loves him so much. He always does, it’s always right there under the surface, but Gabe remembered how he takes his coffee. Gabe listens to old bands on ancient technology, Gabe probably hasn’t slept well in weeks, and Gabe is pulling Jesse in to kiss him.

“I love you.” Jesse says, when the songs have all clicked through another rotation and the bells are tolling again. Gabe kisses him again, maybe so Jesse doesn’t say it again, but Jesse can feel the smile against his lips so he doesn’t mind. “I love you, but you’re fuckin’ old. A CD player?”

“A boombox, McCree.”

“Alright, whatever. When did this album come out?”

“1980.” Gabe says, without hesitation, which Jesse laughs at. Gabe is good with facts, details with no room for error. Of course he remembers when this album came out, even though it was, like, 90 years ago. Jesse twists and tugs until his back is to the counter and Gabe is pressed close into his space. Jesse awkwardly turns to put his mug down and puts his hands on Gabe’s face to kiss him again.

“Who’s this again?” Jesse asks, moving his hands down to tuck them into Gabe’s back pockets. Gabe scowls, but the arms around Jesse don’t tighten in anger.

“If you don’t know AC/DC by now --” Gabe starts, bristling, before Jesse’s snorting laugh cuts him off.

“Where do you even get this shit?”

Gabe cracks a half smile, and to Jesse’s amusement and vague concern, doesn’t answer. He carefully peels himself out of Jesse’s grasp and picks up his coffee and his data pad.

“We have a meeting in 10, McCree. Don’t be late.” His tone is light, and when he looks back at Jesse he’s smiling fondly. Jesse loves him so much, and rushes forward to tell him that before kissing him one last time. Gabe doesn’t tell him he loves him back, but he never does. He doesn’t need to. Jesse grabs his own mug, swallows a mouthful of almost-perfect coffee, and heads out the door.

+++


	2. Have A Drink On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Two: Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this got out of hand lol
> 
> also the title ended up being weirdly appropriate in a super gross way so sorry also for that

+++

If he’s not careful, smoke billows forth from the eye holes in his mask. It comes out with every breath, black and course as it slides across his tongue. It’s become second nature to hiss it out so it dissipates before it becomes a cloud, but when he’s unfocused --

He can’t see for the smoke and the blinding sun. Reaper breathes in deeply and exhales just as hard, and tilts his head towards the sky. He closes his eyes, but he can imagine the plumes of mist billowing up from his face. The wind whips his coat around, slapping it against his leg. He focuses on the physical sensations in an attempt to ground himself. He’s stretched himself too thin this time, and if he doesn’t find somewhere to hole up soon he’ll start to dissipate. He frowns, and the skin around his mouth cracks. Smoke comes from the cracks too, streaming across his face and making it even harder to see. His comm bursts to life in a flurry of static and he has to really concentrate to hear the words. They have his location, they need him to move two miles southeast so they can pick him up, any closer and the locals will see them come in. Hurry, Reaper, they tell him, like they have any true authority.

He can’t hurry. He has to focus on keeping a physical form, so he walks slowly, deliberately. He can’t feel the heat of the leather on his shoulders anymore. More black in his eyes. The comm comes alive again.

“Reaper?” Sombra asks, and Reaper blows the black out from between his teeth.

“Here.” Barely.

“You’re too slow. You need to move or we’ll have to leave you.” Her normal teasing is gone, and her voice is tight. Is she worried?

“I will be there.” He seethes, and does not answer her anymore. He tries to pick up the pace, if only so she will stop calling. He blinks rapidly, but the cloying pitch does not clear.

When he is finally hauled into the helicopter, the scientist assigned to him begins to run tests. There’s no need, he knows what’s wrong, but if it keeps Talon satisfied he’ll allow it. He closes his eyes. He can’t sleep, not in this state, but all he sees is darkness no matter what, so he might as well relax. Sombra, clicking away on a data pad beside him, is silent the whole ride.

He does not regain feeling in his body until they have landed and he is back again in his dark quarters. He lays on a bed he never uses and slowly pulls the particles back under his skin. It feels like he’s being rebuilt, cells at a time, like the first time when Angela slid the needle into his vein. It’s more grounding than any wind, and when it's over he turns on a light and hisses out a breath. The air stays clear.

His hands are shaking, but that’s normal after a rebuild. He digs cigarettes out from a drawer and pushes aside the blackout curtain on the sole window. The smoke coming from his mouth is a darker gray than cigarette smoke usually is, but that’s fine. That’s just how it is. His comm buzzes. He doesn’t even turn to look.

 

+++

 

Jesse hauls himself up and through the window with some difficulty. He knows Lena saw, because he can hear her laugh through his earpiece. He snorts as he stands, dusting himself off. He’d like to see her free climb to a second story window in cowboy boots. Admittedly, he probably could have just broken a window on the first story, but where was the fun in that? The building should be abandoned, but Jesse takes off his spurs just in case. He’d prefer not to alert any inhabitants to his presence, should there be anyone squatting. The rooftop is his goal -- Widowmaker is up on these roofs somewhere and while her aim is fantastic, her close range leaves something to be desired. If Jesse can get within range of his pistol, he might be able to drop her before she can switch her rifle into assault mode.

He finds Reaper on the roof instead.

Reaper doesn’t even notice him. He’d been careful to open the door slowly, in case this was the roof Widowmaker was on. All the cloth he’s wearing actually muffles the sound of the creak of his arm and the assortment of tools around his waist. For the first time ever, Jesse has snuck up on Gabriel Reyes.

Jesse clenches his jaw. He slowly draws his gun and aims. The first shot hits above the plating on Reaper’s leg, and he goes down hard. A black substance, thicker than blood, drips down the shiny metal and Jesse resists the urge to gag. He fires again, and the black wells up from the hole in Reaper’s shoulder. Reaper finally turns to look over his shoulder at Jesse.

“You’re gettin’ slow, Reaper.” Jesse says, and reloads just in case. “Didn’t even hear me comin’.” He can hear Lena and Hana make exclamations of surprise over his earpiece. None of the information they’d gotten had indicated that Reaper would be here. If they’d known, he knows no one would have let him, Jack, or Ana come on this mission.

“It’s for the best.” Jack had said, the first time Winston had sent them on a mission far, far away from where Reaper was supposed to be. “There’s too much there, Jesse. For all of us.”

He had understood at the time, begrudgingly. Now, with Reaper slowly rising to unsteady feet -- he’s not sure. There’s a lot in his head, conflicting emotions and desires, and he’s noticing details in bullet time. Reaper shouldn’t be standing at all, but he is, and there’s smoke rising from his shoulder now, and without thinking Jesse raises his gun again. He shoots until his gun clicks empty. The black liquid has turned into a black gas instead, and it rises from Reaper in clouds.

“McCree!” He hears Jack yell suddenly, and he wonders how long Jack’s been trying to get his attention. “Is he still there? McCree, do you have Reaper?”

Reaper should have crumpled by now, 8 shots in his body at this close a range, but he’s barely swaying on his feet. He looks at McCree, long and hard, and Jesse feels a chill run up his spine.

“Reyes?” He asks, because suddenly the flurry of thoughts in his head has slid to a halt on the idea that maybe Gabe is still in there. Reaper jerks his head back, and abruptly turns away. Jesse can see him take a deep breath, and he begins to dissipate. He’s relocating, that weird smoke teleportation he does, and Jesse begins to run forward.

“He’s on the move!” Jesse says into his comm, and dives to grab at Reaper’s legs. His arms wrap around mist, and Reaper is gone. The black gets in Jesse’s eyes, and he coughs.

“McCree, can you see him?”

Jesse coughs and coughs and coughs, body fighting desperately to expel Reaper’s fucking parasitic mist from his lungs, and he almost throws up from the intensity of it. He can hear Jack barking orders, telling Hanzo and Ana to go find him, and he wants to tell them where Reaper went, tell them that he’s weak, plead with them to get him, please, before he gets away, but his hacking brings up the black goo and he can’t breathe. It’s in his throat, and Ana and Hanzo throw open the door to the roof in time to see Jesse breathe out a cloud of black into the midday sky.

He wakes up in his own bed, Angela and Ana quietly talking over a data pad. He closes his eyes before they notice he’s awake, and the darkness behind his lids feels like home.

 

+++


	3. What Do You Do For Money Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Three: Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic series now has a warning for violence. There's also a brief mention of eye gore near the end, but its like half a sentence and there's no real torture involved. If you need a summary of the fic just in case, message me or send me an ask on tumblr and I'll write you one. There will be refs to this chapter in the next one.

+++

 

Jesse stomps his feet into his boots, tucks in his jeans, and leaves the letter on the bed. They taught him well, his fellow agents, because he slips out of the Blackwatch base without being seen. He doubts they’ll even find camera footage of him. He didn’t tell anyone he was leaving. He knows they would have tried to convince him to stay, because the inner circle of Blackwatch is tighter than ever now. In the face of media backlash and toxic words from higher ups, they have turned and bared their teeth at anyone coming close. Newer recruits have been sent away, or left, but those who have been around for years? They chose to hunker down, pull into a tight circle, and keep close.

He focuses on the next step for days. Get to town, get a car, get on a train, get a bed, keep his head down, run as far as he can as fast as he can. He knows Gabe will send someone after him, if the UN lets him. Jesse doesn’t want to be found. He doesn’t want to face what he’s done. He doesn’t let himself think beyond what’s the plan, turn right here, did they see you? He doesn’t even take the time to look over his shoulder, because that would mean looking back.

When he finally comes up for air, it’s been just over two weeks. He’s settled state-side and hidden just outside a town uncomfortably similar to the one he grew up in. Gabe knows that he hates place like this, so maybe he won’t think to look here. Jesse has no clue what Gabe thinks about him leaving; to be fair, he hasn’t had a clue about what Gabe’s thought in a long time.

He stays in that house for a week, trying to pull Jesse the man out of the ashes of Agent McCree, when Leal Porter shows up at his door in jeans and a leather jacket. Porter smiles, all teeth, and asks Jesse to step outside. Jesse considers slamming the door in their face.

“Jesse, I just want to talk.” Porter says, putting their hands up so Jesse can see they don’t have any weapons in their hands. “For just a second. You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to.”

Jesse steps out into the sun and flinches at the bright light. He hasn’t been outside during the day recently, and the sun is already giving him a headache.

“Reyes sent you for me?” Jesse asks, and he hates the way his voice sounds rough and thin. Weak.

“He did, but that’s not really why I came.” Porter replies, and lowers their hands. They stuff them into the pockets of their jacket, the casual motion coming across forced. They already look sweaty, and Jesse wonders why they decided to wear a road leathers in this heat. Must have taken a motorcycle out here, but if they came here to bring Jesse back, wouldn’t they take something that could comfortably fit two people? Jesse disguises checking that he has Peacekeeper on him by brushing dust off his leg.

“He couldn’t come for himself?” Jesse asks. Jesse doesn’t even know if Gabe being here in Porter’s place would be better or worse. He rubs his eye. Fucking dust everywhere.

“He’s kind of busy, if you recall.” Porter replies, giving Jesse a hard look. Jesse sucks his teeth and furrows his brow. Of course he knows that, he remembers, but he’d kind of -- whatever. It doesn’t matter.

“How did you find me?”

“I still have Blackwatch resources, bud. Disgraced or not, they’re pretty good.” Porter smiles again. “Look, the important thing is I’m here, and I need something from you.”

“Your Blackwatch resources suddenly not enough?” Jesse grits out. He likes Porter, he really does, but this whole meeting is bad. It feels bad, and it’s hot out, and he’s tired, and he wants to be left alone. He wants to be home, he thinks, but he hasn’t had something like that in a long time. The sand is getting into his left arm and grates every time he moves it. He slaps his palm against it a couple of times, but it doesn’t help. Porter watches him calmly.

“I’m not going to ask you to come home unless you want to.” Porter says.

“I don’t want to. Are we done?”

“I haven’t made my offer yet.”

“Leal --”

“Jesse, listen.” Porter steps in, and Jesse stands his ground. If this turns into a physical fight, he’s bigger and faster. Porter’s sharp as a tack but Jesse is fairly confident he can fend them off. “The leak? The person who spilled Blackwatch’s existence to the news? That was me.”

Jesse processes the information. He looks down at Porter’s smiling face, and it takes every scrap of control he has left to not reach out and grab them by the throat.

“Why?” He asks, and tries to pretend he isn’t seeing red.

“All these years, we’ve worked and worked and worked, and we’ve gotten nothing in return. The UN hates us, Overwatch turns up their noses at us, and the world didn’t even know what we did for them. I got sick of fighting and struggling for nothing. I got a better offer. “ Porter steps back, turns away from him, and Jesse crosses his arms so he doesn’t reach for his revolver.

“A better offer?”

“I was told that if I pushed Blackwatch into the light, I’d get --” Porter stops and faces Jesse again. “ It doesn’t matter. They need a sharpshooter, Jesse, and they want me to find someone. When you left, I figured you didn’t care for Blackwatch anymore. Thought you’d be interested. We’ll go home, wait until Overwatch crumbles, and then move up in the world. No one has to know our part in it. Not Morrison, not the news, not Reyes.”

Porter is out of arm's reach, which is to their benefit. If they were any closer, Jesse would snap and go for the kill. He snarls instead, and the smile on Porter’s face melts into a sterner expression.

“He trusted you.” Jesse says and clenches his fists. “Gabe fucking trusted you, and you sold him out for a raise.” He feels the anger in the back of his throat, wild and hot, and his body rushes with adrenaline.

Porter is a friend. Porter is Gabe’s friend, from back in the Omnic Crisis. They’re third in the chain of Blackwatch command, right above Jesse, and Gabe trusts them. He trusted them enough to get Jesse, to bring him home, and that means something. That means he cares about Jesse coming back. He bites the inside of his lip. Not now Jesse, focus. Don’t think about it.

“That’s an oversimplification, Jesse. Give me some credit. I’m trying to survive, same as anyone.”

Porter ripped apart Gabe’s whole life with their bare hands, Jesse thinks, and they’re only focused on their own life. They had torn Jesse’s world up too, but he doesn’t care about that. He’d always had a hard time believing Blackwatch was forever, always known that someday he’d either be kicked out or have to run, but Blackwatch is Gabe’s life. He’d built it up out of thin air and force of will, and he’d fought so fucking hard for it, and Gabe had trusted Porter with taking care of it with him.

Gabe doesn’t trust many people. He’d trusted Ana, but she died. He’d trusted Jack, but that was falling apart. He trusts his second, he trusts Porter, he trusts Jesse. He _had_ trusted Jesse. What’s he going to do what he learns what Porter’s done? He’ll only have one person, and what if something happens to her? What if he’s alone?

Porter sighs.

“Jesse.”

“He trusted you.” Jesse says again, and he thinks his voice just cracked, but the blood rushing to his head makes it hard to hear. “You were his friend, you fucking asshole. He trusted you.” He feels hot tears fill his eyes, and he knows his brain is stuck in a cycle but he can’t break out of it. He just thinks about Gabe, laughing with Jack as they walk down a hallway, Gabe sleeping in his chair with a half-finished email in front of him, Gabe smoking on the roof. “Go fuck yourself.”

Porter bares their teeth. “I won’t tell him you’re dead, you know. I’ll let him think you’re alive for the rest of his life. I’ll let him think you’re coming back.” They go for their gun.

Jesse’s faster. He’s always been faster, because the only thing that’s ever kept him alive is instinct and muscle memory, and he fires as Porter starts to raise their pistol. He fires four more times. Porter collapses. The muscles in their arm jerk as the bullets hit, and a stray shot wings past Jesse’s leg. He barely notices. He turns to go inside, then stops. He looks back at Porter, gurgling on the ground. When he walks up, Porter is staring up with terrified eyes. They try to say his name, he thinks, but can’t get it out through the blood in their mouth.

“I could just leave you.” Jesse says, and checks his gun. One round left, like he thought. “But you might somehow scrape yourself together and get away. You don’t deserve that.”

Porter chokes, and Jesse aims.

“You deserve to die in the dirt like the beast you are.” Jesse says. “Bit at the hand that loved you.” He shoots Porter through the eye, and they jerk before going still. Jesse hesitates, but stoops to check their pockets anyway. Wallet, keys for the motorcycle. No phone. Jesse takes the cash and the keys and leaves the rest to soak in Porter’s blood. He packs his things, few as they are, takes the bike, and drives until he’s three towns away. He sends a letter. He drives again. When he finally sleeps, he doesn’t dream at all.

 

+++


	4. Shake A Leg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Four: Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was very hard for a variety of reasons. Also, the interpretation of the prompt was a little loose, possibly, but I like it so whatever ig

+++

 

They had considered breaking Jesse’s door down, but Gabe walked up in time to avoid property damage. As commanding officer, his prints and master code were programmed into every room’s keypad in case of emergency. He just isn’t sure this counts as an emergency.

“No one has seen him in two days, boss.” Arazi says, and she bites at the corner of a nail. She quit smoking years ago, long before Blackwatch was born, but she’d replaced one nervous habit with another. “He’s not on any of the camera feeds either. He straight up hasn’t left his room in two entire days.”

Porter is still fucking around with the keypad, clearly trying to find the screws or a seam so they can pry it open. Rodriguez is crouched next to them, digging through a toolbox. Ridiculous, the top agents in the world and they can’t even get one of their own doors open without breaking it. Gabe sighs, and nudges Rodriguez to his feet so he can hold Gabe’s mug.

“Move, Porter.”

They do, picking up the tools as they go, and Gabe taps in his code. Jesse’s been spending more and more time in his quarters recently. Gabe hadn’t had the time to check in like he’d wanted to; he’s been running between Switzerland and Brussels and here for months, hardly had time to take a shower, let alone have a one-on-one with an agent. Maybe he should have made time. Two days is a long time, especially for someone who normally craves physical and social contact as badly as Jesse does.

The door slides open after the pad reads his thumb print. Gabe stands in the doorway, and his brain pulls in information in bursts. Dark, the light’s off. Doesn’t look like there’s a person in here, but he could be in the bathroom. No, wait, no light coming from beneath the bathroom door, no one in there either. Walls bare, desk empty, bed made with military corners. Two taped up boxes in the corner. Something on the bed.

Gabe turns on the light and enters the room. His agents stand in the doorway, silent, and he doesn’t need to look at them to guess their expressions. The item on the bed is a letter with his name on it. He picks it up, and doesn’t open it. He thinks he’s angry, but he can’t feel it beneath the cold wash of shock that runs over his body.

“He’s gone.” Gabe says. “And that means I have paperwork to file. Arazi, meet me in my office in two hours.”

“Yessir.” He hears her say, and listens to three pairs of boots go down the hall. He lets himself stand in the sterile room for a few quiet moments, then turns for the door. He turns off the light. He closes the door gently, like Jesse’s in there, asleep. He doesn’t return for the rest of his natural life.

 

+++

 

Jack calls him the second Gabe finishes adjusting Jesse’s status.

“He’s gone?!” Jack barks, and Gabe briefly considers doing his deep breathing exercises. “How the fuck did he just slip out? He’s good, Gabe, but he’s never been that good.”

Gabe decides to say fuck it to deep breathing, and leans closer to the screen.

“He was one of the best, Jack. Don’t underestimate him.”

“I’m not! That’s why I’m currently changing his file.” Jack snaps, and Gabe sits back as Jack begins clicking furiously. “The last thing we need is another leak on our hands. What if Talon finds him? What if he decides to start selling information? He’s dangerous, Gabe, and he’s dangerous because of you.” Gabe watches as Jesse’s file changes from friendly to wanted, and seethes. “A rogue agent, that’s what I needed today. Thanks, Gabe.”

“It’s my fault?” Gabe clenches his fist so he doesn’t start slamming them on the desk. “I’m sorry, you think I asked him to run? You think being down an agent is --”

“I think,” Jack interrupts, casting a glare at his camera “ That you need to get him back.”

Well, at least they agree on something.

“I’m working on it.” Gabe says, simply, suddenly tired.

“Fine.” Jack leans forward on his elbows and runs his hands through his hair. Gabe looks at him and wonders how it got this bad. Was like this before Ana died? “Yeah, okay. If you need some people --”

“I’ll let you know. I’ll find him, Jack. He won’t snitch.” Jesse would never, Gabe’s sure. Why he left is beyond Gabe, but he knows Jesse would never betray him like that. He hopes Jesse wouldn’t.

Jack nods, and when their eyes meet he looks just as worn out as Gabe feels. He takes a shaky breath, like he’s going to say something, but stops short. He ends the call without saying goodbye, and Gabe puts his face in his hands. He’s still angry, blindingly angry at Jesse and Jack and the UN and the whole world, but he has work to do. He looks at the letter still unopened on his desk.

“Athena? Call Agent Porter to my office please.”

“Yes, Commander Reyes.”

 

+++

 

Gabe slams his fist into the desk so hard he feels something crack. He can’t tell if it’s the desk or his hand. He looks down. The top of the desk definitely has a dent in it, and splintering cracks run across half of the top. Hopefully not his hand then. He doesn’t think he can focus on getting down to medical right now, and if his hand is fractured in anyway he’d need to do that before the bones set. His enhanced abilities are often useful, but his body isn’t any good at telling what’s out of place and what needs to be fixed before it can start to regenerate cells. His head is pounding.

His door opens.

“Boss, are -- Gabe, holy shit.” Arazi strides across the room and carefully touches his wrist. “Gabe, you need to relax your arm so I can look at your hand.” Gabe looks at her, and struggles to not snatch his arm away and push her away. He’s not mad at her, it’s not her fault, but his body is going hot with rage and breaking his desk wasn’t enough to get it out of his system.

It had taken days, but he finally read Jesse’s letter. He’d apologized. His whole letter had been one long, sad apology with absolutely no explanation. He acknowledged betraying Gabe’s faith in him, and he didn’t regret it one bit.

 

I’m sorry, Gabe, but I have to do this. I’m sorry for hurting you, I’m sorry for leaving Blackwatch weaker than ever, I’m sorry for breaking your trust, don’t look for me. Let me run, please.

 

Gabe relaxes his hand, but it’s an unconscious motion in response to her prodding. His eyes are unfocused, mind whipping through meanings and intonations and words unsaid. He’d always been observant and quick on his feet, and the Program had only improved upon his natural ability. He needs the letter again. Maybe there’s more there, a hint at Jesse’s destination or his motivation. Gabe can feel the shakes coming on, which means he needs to sit down before the unnatural levels of adrenaline and noradrenaline goad him into lashing out.

Arazi pushes open his hand and hisses sympathetically. Pain shoots up his arm. Looks like he broke something after all. He breathes in air and breathes out heat. He’s shaking harder now, and his brain shifts trains of thought.

Gabe is losing everyone, one by one, pushing them away or burying them in early graves. As angry as he is at Jesse for leaving, he’s furious with himself for letting everything get this bad. He knows better. He _knows_ better, and he can do better. He wants to blame Jesse and Jack and everyone else, but Gabe can’t. His hand suddenly starts to hurt, and his eyes focus on Arazi’s hand on his palm.

“Did you slap my hand?” He asks.

“We need to go see Doc.” She says, moving her body so she can lead him out the door. “They’ll need to set your fingers before they heal weird.”

“Adley, I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Gabriel,” she says, repeating his tone, “you can barely focus your eyes. Come on.”

He lets her push him along. He realizes, suddenly and with guilt, that he never asked how she’s taking Jesse leaving. His second had taken Jesse under her wing just as much as he had. She called him family. She loves Jesse, just as much as he does. He looks down at the wedding band on her finger. She has a family outside of Blackwatch: a wife, a daughter, two dogs. She should have gone home to them long ago, but instead she’s stuck around for him, for Jesse, for Blackwatch. He wonders if she thinks it’s worth it.

His fingers will always be a little crooked, Doc tells him, but it could be a lot worse. They crack an awkward joke about his useless super-healing and sets a brace. Arazi vanishes to do the paperwork he now can’t finish.

Later, when he’s trying to sleep off the pain, he wonders if he should take a page out of Jesse’s book and head for the hills. Arazi would be a good leader for Blackwatch, more competent and reliable then he can be right now.

No, he decides, rolling onto his side. He’s going to be selfish, and he’s going to go down with his goddamn ship. It’s not in Blackwatch’s best interest, but he doesn’t care. He’s going to keep it together until the UN inevitably decides to disband Blackwatch or Overwatch or both, and then he’ll go. He’ll stay long enough to see Arazi finally go home, and then he’ll leave. He thinks, briefly, of finding Jesse. He finally sleeps.

 

+++

 

Jesse writes another letter. It’s the late 21st century, and Jesse writes him a letter instead of sending an email like a normal person.

Gabe doesn’t even bother looking for a return address. He opens the envelope, battered from international travel and Blackwatch’s rigorous screening, and pulls out a single page. 

He reads it, and takes a hard sharp breath. He opens Porter’s file, changes their status, then begins to dig. Jack calls. Gabe doesn’t answer. He’s furious. He’s slid headfirst into the cold hard anger that feels so comfortable, all broken in and familiar. He digs his heels into it, refusing to let the misery and pain claw at his throat. He’d always thought someone within Overwatch had leaked Blackwatch to the public. He tricked himself into believing it. He’d blinded himself to the truth. He’d hoped. God, what an idiot. He opens a drawer and pushes the letter into it, where it settles with the first.

Porter’s dead, Jesse’s gone, Jack’s out of reach, and he can’t fix any of it. They all trusted him, and he betrayed that trust. Their reactions have all been extreme, sure, worse than the crimes he committed, but he’s not blameless. Jack calls again. Gabe picks up. He needs to fight, bloody his knuckles, bite and claw and maim and hurt, but the old hard routine of his screaming matches with Jack will have to do.

He misses Jesse, for the first time since he left. Jack face appears on the screen, livid but pale, and Gabe wishes he could just bring Jesse home. He takes a breath, and shows pulls his lips back to show his canines.

 

+++

 

Months later, when he meets Jack’s surprised eyes as the ceiling begins to crack, Gabe wonders if it was one of his agents or Jack’s that got them both killed. Maybe neither. He should have left when he had the chance. He should have followed Jesse. He dies, and they do not bury him.

 

+++


	5. Shoot To Thrill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please imagine a sitcom where Reaper and Sombra have to go undercover and pretend they're siblings or someshit because thats what i kept thinking abt while writing this chapter. Got me thru my day tbh

+++

 

“What year is it?” Sombra asks, and Reaper squints at her. She’s sitting, back to him, tapping at one of her many screens. He had been pleased with her silently working while he and Widowmaker cleaned and repaired their weapons, but apparently that wasn’t meant to last. Widowmaker doesn’t even look up, carefully cleaning her rifle’s parts one by one. 

“I ask,” she continues when they don’t bite at her line, “Because there is a cowboy in the news.”

Reaper puts his cloth down and stands. She moves aside to make room for him. He isn’t sure what he was expecting, but he’d vaguely hoped that McCree would have dropped the cowboy thing by now. How old is he? 36, 37? Reaper grits his teeth.

“He has no presence online.” Sombra comments, swiping away from the news story and through a few photos taken from security camera footage. “Almost no paper trail. He was in juvie a few times. Disappeared when he was 17 and only showed up again a few years ago.” She shoots him a sideways glance. “The agents he ran into say he knew their moves.”

Of course he does. Reaper trained him, Reaper trained most of Talon’s operatives, it’s all the same playbook. He hadn’t changed much because he’d assumed most of his former agents would leave law enforcement and never look back. He certainly didn’t think Jesse McCree would grow up and become some kind of do-good mercenary. He’s going to have to revamp his entire training module.

“Drop it.” He says, and goes back to his guns. Widowmaker glances up and he shakes his head. She smirks, briefly, but leaves him alone.

Sombra sends him everything she could dig up on McCree, which definitely means she is not dropping it. He reads it all anyway. He thinks about updating it for her, filling in the blanks, but some weird loyalty twists in his chest and he closes the file.

McCree disappears from the news for a while. Reaper manages to forget about him -- though not before rebuilding his training from the ground up with McCree’s knowledge in mind. As good as McCree is, Reaper is always going to be better. He’s always going to be one step ahead.

Not even the shaky power of a rebuilt Overwatch can change that.

 

+++

 

Neither he nor Sombra like undercover work. He’d rather be out in the field, guns out and claws sharp, and she’d rather be sneaking into the heart of some high security company. Usually, Talon is more than happy to let them run amok as they see fit. Not so much this time.

“You both speak Spanish, right?” Talon’s head had asked.

“No.” Reaper said, because he spoke conversational Spanglish when he lived in L.A. twenty-five years ago -- and Spanglish based in Mexican Spanish, at that. He’d always floundered when he found himself in Spain, which is apparently where they’re going.

“I’m from Mexico, not Spain.” Sombra had crossed her arms, and Reaper had never felt closer to her. “Like, I’ll be fine, but --”

“That’ll do.” He said, and handed them their cover folders. “We believe Overwatch has set up their recall HQ in the old Gibraltar tower.”

“They speak English in Gibraltar.” Reaper replied, and put the folder back down. He hadn’t mentioned that if they want to blend in at all, they’d need to pick up Llanito, which he couldn’t parse as Gabriel Reyes and certainly can’t now.

“Gibraltar isn’t even in Spain.” Sombra added.

“There’s a truck outside. Get in it. Take the folders with you.”

Reaper hadn’t needed to drag Sombra out of the office, but it was close. She either wants to be completely hidden or out in the open -- hiding in plain sight rubs her the wrong way.

Right now, they’re in the kitchen of a decent house on the island of Gibraltar, and Reaper is struggling to control his temper. He finds Sombra to be acceptable company. She’s a good agent, most of the time. If he has to live with her for one more day, he is going to try and kill her. She’s putting dishes away, but with more force than necessary. She hates being cooped up too, almost as much as he does, and it’s wearing both of their tempers thin to be in one place for this long.

Besides all that, he’s fine. He doesn’t like it obviously, hates the layers of makeup and scar wax he has to wear to disguise his scars and cracking skin. He hates wearing sunglasses everywhere because he’s light sensitive, hates pretending he’s not literally falling apart and rebuilding faster than the human eye can track. He’s not human anymore, and faking it is draining -- but he’s fine.

Sombra is slamming cabinet doors and probably cracking their dishes, and he sighs angrily over his daily report. They haven’t seen hide nor hair of Overwatch in the weeks they’ve been here, and it’s starting to feel like they’re wasting their time. Sombra has tried a few times to long-range crack into Athena’s security network, but she’s smart enough to keep anyone out who isn’t directly plugged into her system. He sends the report, shorter than the yesterday’s, and closes his computer. He puts on a jacket he doesn’t need so he doesn’t need to put scar wax on his arms, and goes outside. He’s getting antsy, and walking the areas most likely to be visited by Overwatch is something to do.

Weeks of waiting, weeks of surveillance and talking to neighbors and playing the friendly family, and it’s ten minutes into a routine walk that he finally sees a familiar hat come around a corner. Reaper almost freezes. Makeup or not, McCree will know it’s him the second he sees him. He probably won’t shoot in front of all these people, which is a relief. Reaper speeds up and ducks down a street. He’ll hide in the shadows until McCree passes, then go to the rooftops to follow him. If he’s lucky, he might get a chance to bug McCree, which would move their timeline way up.

McCree stops at the turn. He clearly hesitates, then walks down the street towards Reaper. Reaper considers relocating his body, but getting into a fist fight with McCree blows his cover way less than suddenly turning into a wraith and disappearing in broad daylight.

“I knew it.” McCree snarls as he walks up, and he grabs Reaper’s jacket in both hands. Reaper already has his back to a wall, so it’s easy for McCree to get close and keep him boxed in. “You’re slippin’ up, Reaper. I saw you last week too.”

That startles Reaper, and he thinks it shows on his face because McCree looks less angry. His grip loosens, and the leather of Reaper’s jacket creaks.

“No one else has seen you. You’re still damn good, I’ll give that to you. They didn’t believe me.” McCree pulls firmly, and Reaper follows his movement into the light. McCree’s nose scrunches up. “You look rough.”

“I died. It happens.” Reaper replies, and wraps his hands around McCree’s wrists. McCree’s hands are steady under his palms. He squeezes, once, a warning. “Don’t make a scene.”

McCree looks at him, eyes squinting in the sun, before releasing Reaper’s jacket entirely. “I ain’t gonna let you go, you know.”

“And I won’t let you bring me in. Sounds like we have a problem.” Reaper doesn’t let go of McCree’s wrists. McCree is older and smarter, but Reaper still thinks he can win in hand-to-hand. If not, his shotguns are pretty devastating this close. He hopes, for once, that it won’t come to that.

McCree sighs through his nose and lifts his hands. He pauses, then carefully cups Reaper’s face in both hands. “There ain’t a shred of Reyes left in you, is there?”

Reaper doesn’t know what to say to that. McCree tilts his head, sad but unsurprised. “I didn’t think so.” He says, and kisses Reaper.

Reaper jolts, and his grip tightens again.There must be some pieces of Gabriel left, he thinks, because he doesn’t immediately snap McCree’s wrists. McCree is warm, warmer than what Reaper’s own body can maintain, and it feels -- he doesn’t know. He doesn’t get a chance to do anything, either bite or shove or kiss back, because McCree suddenly pushes and tries to slam his head into the wall. McCree plays dirty, always has, and that’s a comfort. Reaper can work with dirty.

He twists, jams a knee in McCree’s back, and finishes with a boot to the back of his knee. To his credit, McCree doesn’t go down, instead stumbling forward. He whips around, reaches for a gun he isn’t carrying, and touches a finger to his inner ear. Reaper makes a break for it. He’s sure McCree isn’t alone, and he needs to get to Sombra before the cavalry arrives.

She’s sitting at the dining room table when he opens the door, screens floating around her. She jumps when he slams the door and gets to her feet.

“Sombra, the bug, turn the bug on!” He yells, and runs into his room. He’s kept all his things packed, in case they needed to be removed quickly, and he grabs the bag. He can hear her laugh from the main area, and comes back out to her watching a dot move through the town with glee.

“I called for evac.” She tells him, a broad grin on her face. “They’ll meet us in twenty. Who did you tap?”

“The cowboy.”

She laughs again, and he cracks a smile. Always one step ahead.

 

+++

 

The video feed from McCree’s mechanical arm is practically useless, but they get fantastic audio for an entire week before McCree notices the odd raised spot on his wrist. Sombra sends the last 30 seconds of video feed to Reaper.

McCree raises the bug to face level. He laughs, disbelieving, and rubs a thumb over it.

“Not bad, Reyes.” He says, and crushes the bug between his fingers.

Reaper deletes the video. Sombra sends it again. She sends it three more times.

“I told you to drop it.” He says, scowling at her gritty image on the call. She’s got a mission in the morning, cracking into some base in the desert somewhere, but apparently she’s also got some time on her hands.

She laughs at him, then grabs the camera to show him the view outside her window.

“I’ll drop it when he does.” She tells him, and Reaper leans forward to get a better look at the figure sitting across the street. It waves, and the left arm glints. “He’s pretty good, Reaper.”

“Yeah.” Reaper replies, and the corner of his mouth twitches up. “He’s pretty good.”

 

+++


	6. Given The Dog A Bone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My laptop screen broke minutes after I posted day 5....thank god i have the gdocs app on my phone................

+++

 

Jesse leans back so the blood doesn’t run out of his nose. One of the Overwatch guys broke it, he thinks, but he’d also spit blood at a doctor when one had come in to take a look at him, so he’s not sure. He thinks about trying to run. He hadn’t really got a look at the hallways when they dragged him in here; he doesn’t think he’ll be able to backtrack his way out an escape. Besides, this is Overwatch. They’d catch him before he was a mile out.

Jesse shivers. It’s cold, colder than home, and he’s not dressed for it. He’s also lost some blood, but he doesn’t know if that makes you colder or not. It seems like it should, because blood is warm? Ugh, wait, he got nose blood in his mouth. He leans forward and spits it out onto the ground. Conveniently, the door opens.

The man in the doorway does not look impressed. He doesn’t have a folder or a datapad in his hand, which means they probably didn’t dig up much on him. Maybe he just doesn’t care what they found.

He steps forward, and Jesse gets a good look at him. His legs start to bounce. That’s Gabriel Reyes, sitting down across from him at the interview table. The handcuffs jingle as he shifts uncomfortably under Reyes’ stare. Jesse _knows_ about Commander Reyes. His dad talked about Reyes, reading news about the Omnic Crisis to Jesse when he came home from whatever. You see a man’s picture on a screen enough times, he stops being a person and starts being a myth, something well-intentioned people use to get you to get your shit together.

But he’s real. He’s a real person, breathing and waiting for Jesse to stop staring at him. Jesse suddenly feels so small. Yesterday he’d been so full of bravado, 17 and strong and ready to get cut in on a huge score. Now he’s 17 and beat up and wishin' he had a home to run to. He sniffs and his eyes go watery from the pain.

Gabriel Reyes, hero of the Omnic Crisis and Former Commander of Overwatch hands him a packet of tissues. Jesse takes them and stuffs his nose.

“You turn 18 soon, right?” Reyes asks, and Jesse frowns. “They’re planning on postponing your trial until you’re legal so they can stick you in supermax with the rest of them.”

“They can’t -- I’m a minor.” Jesse says, because he’s been in this rodeo before, he knows how these laws work. They can’t do that. The crime was committed when he was 17. He didn’t kill anyone. He doesn’t think he killed anyone. Shit, what if he killed someone? What if he killed someone who works for Overwatch? 

“That’s why I even get to offer you this deal. If this had gone down three weeks from now, you’d be in jail already.” Reyes kicks a boot up on the table. “You’re a good shot.”

Jesse grins. “Yeah.”

“You hit me, you know that?” Jesse didn’t. His grin drops off his face. Reyes taps a large bandage on his cheek. “You could have killed me. Was that on purpose?”

“I don’t -- people are worth more alive.” Jesse fixates on the bandage. He doesn’t remember aiming for anyone’s head. Must have been after he got hit in the nose; his aim got a lot worse after that. Reyes puts his other boot up and crosses his arms, tilting his head to keep his eyes on Jesse. If Jesse had hit his face, shouldn’t he be unable to talk? He’d heard Reyes was some kind of super soldier. Does nothing phase him? Jesse feels so in over his head.

“Did you mean to aim for my head at all?” Reyes asks, and Jesse looks away. Reyes mentioned a deal, a deal that has to do with him being a good shot. Missing his shoulder that badly might be enough to make Reyes think he’s not worth the trouble. “I asked you a question.”

“No.” Jesse says, and looks up. “I fucked up.”

Reyes laughs at that, a short hard sound. “We’ll work on it. You’re young.”

Jesse swallows. “You said somethin’ about a deal?”

“Yeah. A deal. Jail or Overwatch.” Reyes drops his feet to the ground and leans on one elbow. “You work for me and my team. You leave Deadlock behind for good. You’re never going to be a hero, but it’ll be better than what you were doing before. Or,” and Reyes gestures towards the door, “the supermax, with the rest of Deadlock.”

Jesse thinks. He has to survive. He has to live, and he has a good chance to live in relative freedom where he probably can’t get arrested. Deadlock meant something, of course it did, but they’re gone now. They couldn’t protect him.

“I’ll take Overwatch.” He says, and it comes out firmer than he’d imagined. Reyes smiles and stands.

“Don’t spit at my doctor this time.” He says, and walks towards the door. He stops and looks back, hand on the knob. “I’m getting a lot of shit for taking you on. Don’t fuck up too much, okay?”

Then Jesse’s alone. For some reason, he can’t stop grinning.

 

+++

 

Jesse’s life thus far has had two key figures who have sacrificed a lot for him. First, his mother. Jesse tries not to think about her too much.

Secondly, his father. A good man to his core, who didn’t deserve half of what life threw in his face. Didn’t deserve his early grave either.

Gabriel Reyes is becoming the third, and Jesse can’t figure out why. He’s not a blood relative, didn’t even know Jesse existed until someone had pulled him out of the dust and thrown him into Reyes’ lap. Jesse knows he’s smart, knows he’s a good aim, but in Blackwatch those things are a dime a dozen. There’s plenty of people Reyes’ could have recruited that would have given him less paperwork and less flack from higher ups. Strike Commander Morrison is nice enough, but he’s heard the quiet arguments about him when he’s not supposed to be around. Too young, too reckless, won’t see the therapist, he’s a charity case Gabe and you can’t afford those right now, don't you get it?

Reyes keeps him on though, keeps training him with the other recruits like he isn't at least 5 years their junior, and won’t let a single cruel word be said about where he comes from. It’s a series of kindnesses he hadn’t expected, and it’s starting to make him nervous. There has to be a cost, right? Some kind of endgame? What does Reyes get out of this?

He speeds up as Reyes walks towards his office.

“Commander?”

“McCree.” Reyes says, and opens the door to his office. Jesse awkwardly slides in behind him and closes the door. He wipes his sweaty palms on his fatigues and waits for Reyes to sit. “What’s going on?”

“Why are you doing this?” Jesse asks, and Reyes’ eyes narrow.

“What?”

“I’m not worth much, Commander. I heard you fight with Morrison. I know.”

“You’re goddamn sneaky, McCree, you know that?”

“Sir, why make me the deal?” Jesse puts his hands on the desk and looks Reyes in the eye. This is rude, he guesses, but he’s not military like most of Overwatch. His understanding of the way you're supposed to talk to your COs is limited at best. Besides, he’s probably going to get kicked out soon anyway. Only a matter of time.

“You’re a good shot.”

“We’re all good shots.”

“You’re very young to be as good as you are.”

“But I might not get any better, and then I’m just average.”

“McCree.”

“Commander, what’s the price gonna be?”

Reyes sits up at that, jaw clenched. “McCree, what do you think I’d try and get from you?”

“I don’t know. But there’s something. There’s gotta be.” Jesse sits in a chair, and his leg begins to bounce. It drives Reyes crazy and it has ever since their first meeting, but he can’t stop it.

“There isn’t.”

Jesse throws his hands up and slaps them back down on his thighs. “Then why am I here?!”

“Because you needed help, Jesse.” Reyes says, like it’s nothing at all. “And this is the only kind I could give you. Are we done?”

Jesse looks at him and finally sees Gabriel instead of Commander Reyes.

“Yessir.”

“Get out of my office, then.”

Jesse goes.

The price does come, someday, but it is one Jesse would pay a thousand times over and one Reyes never lives to see.

 

+++

 

They didn’t have a body to bury, but Jesse is furious anyway. They couldn’t bury an empty casket, like they did with Jack? No, of course not. Gabe was the bad guy, so he gets no gravestone.

Jesse goes to the ocean instead.

He was going to go to southern California, but the beaches near where Gabe grew up are always crowded, even at night. He wants to be alone for this. He heads north, where the sea is a little colder and the beaches are rockier. These beaches are more like the ones at the old base anyway.

He was going to drink, but the idea of an untimely demise at the hands of a sneaker wave he was too drunk to see it coming is unappealing. He smokes instead, knows Doc and Angela would be so upset if they knew how many cigars he burns up. Gabe would be too, for an entirely different reason, and the thought makes him smile.

“You gave them everything, and they took it all.” Jesse says to the ocean. “They didn’t deserve you, Gabe. None of us did.”

He leaves California and doesn’t look back. Nothing for him there anyway.

 

+++


	7. Let Me Put My Love Into You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We did it kids holy smokes
> 
> This day is based off my Monster Hunter AU. The first chapter is up for that already -- its not a mcreyes fic but it has hints of mcreyes bc i cannot be stopped.
> 
> WARNINGS: there is a brief sex scene in the third section down, and talk of suicidal ideations throughout. I've added tags to the fic accordingly just in case.
> 
> Lastly: i made a joke a month ago abt how come day 7 of mcreyes week no one will have seen me outside of work in a week and i'll look pale and sad. I was 100% right. It was worth it.

+++

The Gunslinger sprints away from his friends, and the Soldier calls out after him. He doesn’t listen, doesn’t slow down, just keeps his eyes on the golden glow ahead of him.

He loses track of it twice in the dark cluster of trees but always finds it again. He’s far far away from the group now, deep in the forest, and getting back out is going to be a struggle and a half. He finally corners the Reaper, hours later. It suddenly doesn’t matter how lost he is.

He says the Reaper’s name, the one that was stripped from him by the Witch when he was reborn, and the Reaper shudders. “Can you take that off?” The Gunslinger asks, taking a careful step closer. The Reaper is tense, ready to bolt at any sudden movement. “The pumpkin. It’s -- that’s not your head, right?”

The Reaper doesn’t say a word, but carefully reaches up and removes the pumpkin. His eyes have no pupil or whites to them -- just the same gold glow throughout. The gold leaks from his eyes too, falling down his face and soaking into the black collar of his shirt. The Gunslinger laughs shakily and steps forward again.

“Why do you wear that anyway? You look ridiculous.”

“The Witch. Her idea of a joke.” The Reaper says, and The Gunslinger cringes. He hopes whatever afterlife awaited the Witch was a cruel one. He’s only a few steps away now, and he takes them quickly to wrap himself around The Reaper. They both relax, and the Reaper lets out a choked sound.

“I got you, babe, I got you.” The Gunslinger says, pressing his mouth to the Reaper’s cheek. Gold smears against his lips.

The Reaper turns his head to slot the bridges of their noses together, and breathes out gold mist. “I need something from you.”

“Anything.” The Gunslinger swears. Anything, over and over, everything I have, it’s all yours.

“I need you to kill me.” The Reaper’s arms tighten around him. “Please.” The Reaper says the Gunslinger’s name, shaky and pained, and the Gunslinger sobs.

“I don’t think I can.” He admits. The Reaper presses his forehead to the Gunslinger’s. “I just got you back.” The Gunslinger’s voice cracks, and he brings his hands up to clench in The Reaper’s coat collar.

“I’m not alive. I was built for her and now she’s dead. I have nothing.” The Reaper squeezes his eyes shut.

“You have me.” The Gunslinger says, and The Reaper breathes deeply and kisses him. It’s desperate and messy and The Gunslinger opens his mouth. The Reaper pulls away first and the Gunslinger struggles to not lean after him.

“You can come with us.” The Gunslinger breathes. “They’ll take you back if I ask. I can help you, please, I can’t --”

“If you don’t, someone else will.” The Reaper buries his face in the crook of the Gunslinger’s neck. “I’m just like the beasts you hunt. I’m not that man anymore.”

The Gunslinger struggles to find words, something comforting and true, and comes up short. “I still love you.” He says instead, and knows it’s no relief to hear. “I won’t see you die.”

The Reaper is trembling so hard the Gunslinger thinks he’ll come apart at the seams. “You’re not listening.” He insists, and shakes his head when the Gunslinger tries to shush him. “I have to die. You have to kill me. I’m not that man anymore. I’m not -- I had nothing but her.” He gasps for breath. “She died and I woke up. I woke up and I remembered.”

The Gunslinger holds him, arms so hard his muscles hurt. He wants to kill the Reaper just so he’ll be free. The man he loves is in pieces inside a cracked shell and he’s begging to die. The Gunslinger wants to help. He just can’t move his hand to grab his gun, no matter how hard he tries. He kisses the Reaper again instead. He can feel the gold run across his cheeks. He hopes it stains and bleeds into his face. He wants to see it every time he looks in a mirror. He’ll carry the Reaper on his skin. The smell of decaying magic will sink into his clothes. He wonders, frantically, if they can just hide somewhere. They had talked about it once, years ago, a house far away from cities and people. No witches, no monsters, just bury the Gunslinger and Reaper in the stories where they belong and live as the men they were before. He moves his head back and opens his mouth to ask.

“Gunslinger?” The Alchemist’s voice echoes from the left, and the Reaper goes stiff in his arms.

“No.” the Gunslinger whispers. “No, you have to go. They’ll kill you.” He can’t bring himself to kill the Reaper, but the thought of someone else doing it is even worse.

“I know.” The Reaper says, and he tries to pull away, to head for the shouts.

“Darlin’.” The Gunslinger pleads, fingers tight in worn cloth. He kisses the Reaper one last time, briefly, and shoves him in the opposite direction. “I’ll find you. I need time. I’ll help, but you gotta go now.”

The Reaper takes his hand and squeezes it. He lets go to pick up the pumpkin and settle it back on his head.

“Ridiculous.” The Gunslinger says, fond and teary-eyed, and the Reaper laughs quietly.

“I love you.” the Reaper tells him, for the first time in his life, and turns to vanish into the black of the woods. The Gunslinger watches until he can’t see the gold gleam anymore. He wipes tears off his face and looks down at his gold-smeared hands. He’s sure his friends will have questions. The Alchemist and the Soldier are sure to know and the Archer is smart enough to guess. He roughly rubs his face and follows the sound of their voices.

None of them end up asking him anything. They look and they understand where he’s been and they leave him be.

 

+++

 

“Why are you protecting him?” The Archer snarls. “He is an abomination.”

The Reaper chases them now, following them across land and sea. The Gunslinger knows exactly what he’s trying to do. He’s tired of waiting for the Gunslinger to make good on his promise, so he’s throwing himself at the only other people he know will face him. The Gunslinger has been thwarting his every attempt, running and finding new ways to force his companions to follow before they can end the Reaper’s life. These people are his family now, and the thought of them killing the Reaper is horrible. He won’t let them. It’s selfish and petty and he won’t fucking let them.

“Archer.” The Soldier warns.

“No. The Reaper wants to die, so let him die.” The Archer carefully strings his bow. “You’re smart enough to know he’s a monster. Whatever he was is dead, as he should be. You’re reckless and --”

“Archer.” The Soldier says again, and the Archer purses his lips. “Gunslinger, with me.”

The Gunslinger walks with the Soldier out of the abandoned cabin they’re settled in for the night. Their footsteps even out until they’re walking in unison. The Alchemist nods at them as she passes, arms full of kindling and larger chunks of wood.

“He died a long time ago.” The Soldier finally says, when they’re out of eyesight of the cabin. “The Archer is right when he says there’s no man in there anymore.”

“You don’t know that.” The Gunslinger replies, and grimaces. He sounds childish, which was not his intent. The Soldier sighs, and the force of his breath comes out as static through the mask.

“If you won’t kill him, one of us will. You don’t want that.” The Soldier stops walking, and it takes a few extra seconds for the Gunslinger to stop as well. The Soldier crosses his arms and looks away, clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t know exactly what he means to you, but I can guess. My advice is to let him go and let him die. There’s no happiness for him anymore.”

The Gunslinger’s throat feels too tight to talk, so he just grunts. The Soldier’s posture softens and he walks closer to put a comforting hand around the back of the Gunslinger’s neck. “He was important to me too.” He reminds the Gunslinger. “He’s suffering. This is all we can do.”

“I know.” The Gunslinger croaks. “I know. Will you just -- It has to be me.”

The Soldier nods. “I’ll talk to the others.” He moves away. “I won’t explain your history with him. That’s up to you.”

“Okay.” The Gunslinger looks in the direction of the cabin. He doesn’t know how he’ll even begin to tell that story, but he’ll figure it out somehow. They deserve that much.

 

+++

 

If he gets enough of his body against the Reaper’s, maybe he’ll forget about the scars that weren’t there before. Maybe he won’t notice the Y-shape on the Reaper’s chest, old and shiny. The Reaper pushes him down against the mattress and the Gunslinger grips his arms. Gold stains the white sheets and smudges of it trail across all the places the Reaper has kissed. He knows from experience that the gold washes away, but he still loves the look of it on him, bright and glinting and terrible reminders of where the Reaper has been.

The Gunslinger bites lightly at the Reaper’s fingers in his mouth, before running his tongue between them. His hands are the same as the Gunslinger remembers. No new scars or color, just strong and rough with gun calluses. The Reaper pulls his hand away to lift the Gunslinger’s legs over his shoulders before lowering his mouth. The Gunslinger’s legs jerk in surprise. His mouth is hot around the Gunslinger’s cock, hotter than normal body temperature, hot like his skin against the Gunslinger’s. It’s good, he’s always good, but it’s not what it used to be. The new and the old are stitched together in weird ways and the Gunslinger feels disoriented.

When the Reaper pulls back to breathe, he blows out the gold mist. The Gunslinger suddenly realizes that’s the same gold that comes from his eyes. His body is just running so hot that when it comes directly from within it evaporates. He reaches down to touch the Reaper’s face. The Reaper looks up.

“Okay?” The Reaper asks. It’s a stupid question, he knows that neither of them are okay, but there’s an affectionate clench in the Gunslinger’s chest all the same.

“Come here.” He says instead of the truth, and wraps himself up in the heat of the room and the man above him. He’s going to forget about reality and he’ll be damned if he’s going to do it alone.

The Reaper doesn’t stay, but he waits until the Gunslinger is asleep to leave. That’s okay. The Gunslinger hadn’t expected he’d stick around. He misses him when he wakes up, a sick pit in his stomach that doesn’t go away for days, but he counts his blessings. The Reaper hadn’t spoken of his promise once. Maybe there’s hope.

 

+++

 

He starts to dream in gold and black. Every time the Soldier reads his future using his beat up cards, the Hierophant appears. The Reaper stops chasing them, maybe because he knows they won’t kill him. Maybe he’s afraid of the way the Gunslinger looks at him, like he’s worth saving.

The Alchemist has yet to say anything on the matter. She’s often already up when the Gunslinger jolts awake in the middle of the night, sweating and tasting the gold on his tongue. She doesn’t ask what he dreams about, just watches him make tea and drinks it with him while they talk. He wants to ask her what he should do, but he already knows what she’d say.

One night, he dreams he stays true to his word. He wakes from that dream crying, and she makes the tea.

“I thought I’d be ready by now.” He confesses, refusing to meet her eye. “I thought I could do it.”

She puts her hand over his. “You’re never going to be ready. You’ll have to do it anyway.”

He looks down and shakes his head, hoping she won’t see him cry again. She rubs a thumb over the back of his hand and waits until his shoulders stop shaking.

“I don’t know what I’ll do when he’s gone.” He tells her. It’s the first time he’s admitted it to himself. He’s scared and it’s so deep in everything he does he almost feels it in his bones.

“You will never be alone again.” She promises, and squeezes his fingers. “You won’t have to grieve alone either. We’re together, like it or not.” They both laugh. It’s quiet and weak, but he still feels lighter. The Archer and Soldier wake up soon after, and they have to prepare for the next hunt. He puts on his confidence like a coat and pretends it’s alright. The Alchemist brushes hair behind his ear and gives his cheek a fond pat before walking outside. The confidence feels a little less forced.

 

+++

 

“Do you remember when we said we’d hide?” The Gunslinger asks, and the Reaper turns slowly to look at him. “Before it all fell apart.”

“We can’t have that.” The Reaper sounds worse than he did the last time they ran into each other. “Not anymore.”

“I guess not.” The Gunslinger replies, and raises his gun. He slowly pulls back the safety, and it clicks. Relief flows across the Reaper’s body, and his shotguns melt from his hands.

He misses. His hands are shaking and he misses by a country mile. The Reaper stares at him in disbelief, then looks off in the distance to the right.

“Something coming for you.” He says. The Gunslinger hears a tree fall in the distance. “Where there’s a thrall, there’s a witch.” He warns. He starts to dissipate.

“What, death by thrall not good enough?” The Gunslinger asks, and how strange it is that he can joke about this now. Humor to distance himself, probably.

“Not risking becoming one again.” The Reaper replies. The Gunslinger blinks, and the Reaper is gone. The Gunslinger reloads and heads left. Another tree falls.

Next time, he thinks. He’ll do it next time.

 

+++

**Author's Note:**

> Happy mcreyes week yall welcome to my personal hellpit known as "7 fics in 7 days all named after songs on AC/DC's Back in Black album"
> 
> If you want to know more about Mcreyes week and the prompts, check either the tumblr (http://mcreyesweek.tumblr.com/) or the twitter (https://twitter.com/mcreyesweek)


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